


blaze with the fire that is never extinguished

by PhoenixxWispp



Series: Let The Star Guide The Angel [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back
Genre: 'tis dark indeed, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Captivity, Dark, Huddling For Warmth, Love Confessions, M/M, and somehow the saddest tag is "canon compliant", no seriously this isn't a good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixxWispp/pseuds/PhoenixxWispp
Summary: But the holding cell wascold.Buried in a secret base, two hundred and fifty feet under Illum's ice and snow, it proved not to be the most accommodating of places, especially without centralized heat or, at the very least, a jacket.





	blaze with the fire that is never extinguished

General Maximilian Veers didn't fear the cold.

He'd been in much worse situations, much more desperate, much more wounded. Not even the iron door that separated him and the good Doctor Galen Erso from the rest of the galaxy bothered him. Escape would come soon, in time and with patience, something both of them had no shortage of. Max spared Galen an amused smile, watching with dark wonder as his breath crystallized before him, creating beautiful sparkles in the frigid air. Galen smirked back in before letting his eyes slip closed again, hiding the deep auburn of his iris'.

He'd been in much worse situations, much more desperate, much more wounded. Not even the iron door that separated him and the good Doctor Galen Erso from the rest of the galaxy bothered him. Escape would come soon, in time and with patience, something both of them had no shortage of. Max spared Galen an amused smile, watching with dark wonder as his breath crystallized before him, creating beautiful sparkles in the frigid air. Galen smirked back in before letting his eyes slip closed again, hiding the deep auburn of his iris'.

But the holding cell was  _cold_.

Buried in a secret base, two hundred and fifty feet under Illum's ice and snow, it proved not to be the most accommodating of places, especially without centralized heat or, at the very least, a jacket.  

It was after hundreds of grueling nights that the efforts of laboring over the new _Blizzard One_ \- and in turn, all other AT-ATs - designs paid off. The two men, scientist and general together, had taken the lumbering scrap of mismatched metal and turned it into a proper war machine, truly worthy of that title as it was now terrifying and subjugating as could be, twice as big as before and thrice as powerful. At this point, it was just a matter of taking the blueprints, in person, to Lord Vader from the lonely Tarkin Initiative base on Eadu. A trip to the Executor was in order, and Max quickly gained clearance.

But two passengers without the need of an escort, even with one of them being a high-ranking General, could only be spared a worn out, used Lambda-Class T-4A due to the busy efforts to completely finish construction of the heavily doubted Death Star, dubbed the "big ball in the sky" as well as crush the hints of insurgency which seemed to become more of an issue than ever before. Not a problem was suspected - it was only a short trip to deliver a few blueprints - but after a little while of flying from the remote, backwater planet, General Veers and Doctor Erso found themselves under attack from what looked like a band of mercenaries. What could a worn out Lambda-Class T-4A do against a stolen Corellian Corvette warship? 

A quick jump to hyperspace after being forcibly removed from the shuttle and thrown in a cell on the warship found the two landing on the icy planet of Illum where the revered Adegan crystals were no doubt being stolen from the Empire through secret, underground operations. Roughly shoved out of the Corvette, Galen and Max soon found themselves transferred to a very cold and very small holding cell with only one dim light hanging from the ceiling.

After recounting the almost laughable story in his head, Max pulled his gaze away from the scientist and stood up, cracking his neck. The two did nothing but exchange unmeaningful glances for hours on end - there was nothing to say. When Max looked back at Galen who sat with his legs neatly folded in front of him, he could hear Galen's breathing deepen as he no doubt fell asleep or retreated so far back into his mind again that nothing could rouse him for another hour at least. Max smiled again and fiddled with the clasps on his uniform - his battle armor and helmet was confiscated - and shrugged it off even though it was the only hope for warmth. Laying the fabric over Galen's body, Max turned back and rested in the corner opposite Galen's shivering in his tank top. 

Max closed his eyes in a futile attempt to sleep, sneezed, turned a shade of red as his body tried to supply him with heat, and then fell into a bout of coughing. Galen didn't react in the slightest, crystals still forming evenly from his nose. Max regretted his decision to forgo his uniform as he crossed his arms over the thin tank top still clothing him, but this was Dr. Erso after all, the man who created a war machine that might someday save his life, and he was  _Iron Max_. He didn't fear the cold. He didn't fear death. Knowing as much, his eyes slipped closed again and this time, the perfidious clutches of sleep took hold of him.

 

...

 

Sometime during the night, or maybe day since it was impossible to tell, both Max and Galen had migrated closer to each other until they were side by side, meeting in the corner separating them. Galen jerked awake first, turning even paler if possible when he saw his legs tangled with the Max's, the general's uniform thrown over them both. He would have blushed if he didn't feel like his blood had frozen solid in his veins, and Max stirred when he felt Galen try to untangle his legs from Max's own. The general felt his throat go dry - he had no explanation for this and by the looks of it, neither did Galen.

"General Veers," Galen croaked, his eyes wide with shock and embarrassment when he finally managed to untangle himself from Max, breathing a silent apology. "I don't understand - I remember falling asleep in the other corner." 

"Me as well," Max responded hoarsely, slightly uncomfortable and very confused. Galen shuffled away and returned Max his uniform before feeling a fresh wave of sub-zero air hit him. As Galen suppressed a shiver, he heard Max sneeze quite loudly, and the sound, quite jarring to say the least, made Galen whirl back around and kneel down on one knee, pressing a tentative hand to Max's forehead.  _That...didn't sound so good._ And he was right.

"Why is your uniform off..." Galen fretted suddenly, pressing his other hand to his own forehead, and upon feeling the stark difference, he felt a jolt of panic and climbed back into the makeshift blanket, wrapping his arms tightly around Max. "You have a fever and you feel like someone dragged you backward through Hoth's surface." He feels a nagging voice in his head that this proximity was wrong, but Max was so obviously sick and Galen pushed past the barrier of comfort, pressing his slightly warmer body against Max's.

"You looked cold," Max wheezed after a pause. "And I'm fine. I've been through worse..." Galen silenced him by cupping a hand over Max's mouth, seeing as when the general spoke, his throat seemed to convulse painfully. Something only rest could cure - most likely a sore throat. Max chuckled and gently pushed Galen's hand again and murmured once more saying how he was fine before Galen tightened his embrace almost indignantly. 

"If hyperthermia settles in, I'm never going to forgive you," Galen said, tone gruff. "I'm cold, yes, but I'm not sick." Max chuckled again before a bout of coughing took him, Galen cradling him through it. After a few hours of trying to shy away from Galen's warmth and deny his sickness, Max finally leaned back in and wrapped a tentative hand around Galen's waist as well, feeling warmth transfer between the two, trapped by the synthewool uniform. 

"They should have let me keep my gloves," Max half coughed half laughed, rubbing his freezing hands together. Galen's head turned in concern but he didn't try to silence the general who seemed almost bored out of his mind. Or maybe just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. "I guess they were worth money." But upon saying that, something seemed to become clear to Max as he let his bare hand reach over and he palmed at his uniform and then his tank top, eyes widening in sudden shock.

"What is it, general?" Galen asked, genuine worry in his voice as Max's face twisted with sudden rage, rage that wasn't quite healthy for him at his level of wellness at the time. Galen patted Max's arm with what little room he had to ease up some of the sneezing and coughing before Max began to speak, voice taut with loathing. 

"They took my Rank Insignia Plaque," Max fumed. "And my kriffing dog tags." Galen's eyes widened with shock and he shot Max a slightly confused look tilting his head to the side. 

"I-I swear I saw both yesterday," Galen said, uncertainty clear in his voice. Galen remembered how he looked at Max's dog tags when he did push-ups in the corner, ever the soldier first and foremost. The gleaming edges of his rank badge caught his eye as well - how did they vanish?

"They must have taken it during the night," Max snarled finally. He tried to struggle to his feet but Galen wrestled his weak frame back down, shaking his head and stroking the general's freezing arm. 

"No, this isn't a bad thing," Galen assures him finally, hugging Max as tightly as ever, taking care to murmur into the crook of Max's neck. When he spoke again, his voice was low, low enough that any bugs in the room wouldn't be able to hear. "They came in during the night."

"Yeah, I got that part. So?" Max still looked annoyed and like he was going to slay something soon. Galen tapped Max's cheek, prompting him into looking into Galen's deep brown eyes which were rather calming at times. 

"They had to open the door." Galen's voice was curt and quiet, his lips barely moving. 

Understanding blossomed in Max's eyes as he turned to Galen. It wasn't that hard a connection, but Max still felt the lasting anger at finding his rank plaque and dog tags missing - they were his life, his identity. No doubt, they would be sold to the highest bidder, and just knowing that made his breath come in short bursts as he huffed angrily.

But Galen cradled him, hushed him, patted his coughs away, and held him when sleep finally took the general again.

 

...

 

Max's condition didn't improve drastically since the second day - the coughing seeming to never end. And it didn't help that he insisted on pretending to be awake alongside Galen so that he could assault anyone who opened the door to their holding cell. He needed sleep, and he needed it desperately. 

But not only sleep, he needed food. They both did. Each time, Max opened his eyes, hoping to see maybe a nutrition bar or even a few scraps and leftovers of sorts to help sustain his quick metabolism. There never was, though, and it did naught but weaken the general. The scientist was better off, his metabolism slow and the ability to retreat into his own mind for long hours at a time, darting through fountains of numbers and equations. It took his mind off the hunger and even the jarring cold which made its way into their bones by now. 

Galen, however, was not immune either. With every cough, every sneeze, every embrace, Galen felt himself getting sicker and sicker, his immune system weakened by the cold. And Galen stayed up days at a time, deep eyebags forming under the usually calm brown. He coughed as well. He sneezed as well. He shivered as well, violently to say the least.

Sleep finally came, taking the scientist by tooth and claw, and when he woke up the next morning or night, he found his throat as sore as Max's and the last of the excess warmth seeped from his body. The two curled into small balls then, pressing against each other with arms and legs tangled at all times. Neither of them minded anymore, trying to press closer and closer together until it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. It fully seemed that two had melted into one shivering bundle of despair. 

Max and Galen both knew to be patience, and though they were both experts in staying calm while waiting for rescue, the frigid temperature and malnutrition strangled that away from them, leaving the two to hope and beg for someone, anyone, to appear and save them. Be it the Emperor himself or even the Rebellion, they couldn't tolerate the cell's wrath any longer. 

"I've killed millions," Max spluttered finally when his tongue decided to work. Galen turned his head weakly. Max's accompanying chuckle lacked the strength and vigor Galen had grown accustomed to. "Your damn ball in the sky is going to kill trillions. Do you suppose this is penance of some sort?" 

If it was, Galen was quite indignant indeed. Forcibly kidnapped from a simple life, his wife slain in front of his very eyes - it wasn't his choice to build the damned Death Star. But no one knew that, did they? Orson would never tell anyone of his crimes. Nothing to say coming to mind, Galen settled with "we're not going to die." 

"It's been a week. We're both sick. Be honest, Galen. We're going to die of hunger, dehydration, or hypothermia. Maybe a joyful combination of all three..." 

Galen stopped him with a shake of his head. "How could the Empire forget their greatest general and the man who created their greatest asset? Someone will find us, Max." 

Max looked upon Galen's face, seeing a light of hope, bright as a star. A shooting star. He chuckles at that thought and whispers, "you are my shooting star, then. Guide me and we might not..." Max pauses to cough, "perish." 

"Then you're the angel who follows my light to lead the others? Hmm, an angel made of iron?" 

Galen chuckles. Max chuckles. They both cough and sneeze and laugh it off, shivering through the whole thing. 

 

...

 

 _We're going to die,_ Max thought. He trusted Galen with his life, but he felt himself grow weaker than he'd ever been before. If he said he'd been more desperate sometime else, he'd be lying. But...even standing on the conveyor belt into Death's cold jaws...Max saw a positive in the situation. Now would be the time to tell Galen what he'd always known. What he'd known since the beginning, the very first time he was told Doctor Galen Walton Erso would assist in the redesign in the AT-AT.

"I love you," Max declares, insistent and unafraid of what Galen's reaction might be. They both didn't have much time left - Max was colder than he'd ever been and he felt it in the way his every limb was numb and tingling. He was hungrier than he'd ever been, and he felt it in the way he felt his innards clench with pain if he so much as shifted. He was thirstier than he'd ever been and he felt it in the way swallowing hurt not only because of his sore, dry throat but also because there was no saliva to come pooling up. 

Galen didn't speak, and at first, Max thought he was asleep, head rested on his weak shoulder. Max let his hand which was wrapped firmly around Galen's shoulders trail up to his hair to ruffle the now matted auburn-gray locks. When Galen hums softly, Max knew he was awake. 

"I always have, Angel of Iron," Galen said after another moment of silence. "Just didn't know if you felt the same." Galen's voice was mumbled and Max knew that Galen was going to drift unconscious as they both had done - sliding in and out of consciousness through the hours. 

"Galen, I loved you from the moment I saw you and I've never stopped." 

Galen hums with happiness, but he doesn't respond. Max's grip on Galen's hair goes slack and his hand falls to the side as Galen's body grows cold against his chest. 

 

...

 

_Voices. All of them loud._

_Blaster shots, screams, terror._

_Fleeting warmth._

 

_Explosions._

 

_..._

_Someone get the medic!_

_Get the bacta tanks ready stat!_

_You have to carry them..._

 

_W-won't y-you be g-gen-gentler?_

 

_..._

 

"Yes, Lord Vader. I've reached the main power generator. The shield will be down in moments. You may start your landing." 

Max's voice hadn't changed in three years. He still sounded as gruff as he did after he shrieked and lashed out, accidentally injuring a few troopers who happened to be a little too close to his rage. It had taken weeks to finish repairs in his quarters after hearing of Galen Erso's death but it would take lifetime after lifetime to finish repairs on Max's torn heart. And Max took vengeful pleasure in finding out Orson was killed by his own creation,  _Galen's_ creation. 

He was always a military man, a general to be exact, but never had he ever been this reckless, snarling orders that seemed more foolhardy than courageous. Blizzard Force understood, though - in that one year Galen was by his side, he had become part of the force's family, often sharing meals and jokes with them. It was during the few times Galen was able to leave Eadu. 

And now, as the cold winds of Hoth drifted through a vent and caught his breastplate, Max felt panic bubbling in his chest as he ordered  _Blizzard One_ forward faster and more daringly than ever before, watching with savage pleasure in watching the shield generators go up in a beautiful array of explosions. 

But something wasn't right.

Blizzy didn't follow the pilot's orders, and it was only a few moments before Max felt her groaning as she fell forwards, the cockpit crashing towards the ground. Max quickly rushed forwards to get the pilots out of their restraining belts and they fled. But it was too late for him as he was slammed against the viewport, his back shattering the glass, letting snow seep into his wounds. Max felt his consciousness slowly leaving him. After all, it was  _cold_.

General Maximilian Veers feared the cold.


End file.
